


Small Talk

by Arsenic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-11
Updated: 2006-09-11
Packaged: 2020-11-26 21:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: Challenge: A Weasley, Christmas





	Small Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hpshortfics

One of the major perks of working at Gringotts, Bill had always felt, was the Goblin's utter and complete indifference toward Christmas. If he wanted an excuse to get out of being around family for hours upon hours, then they were more than willing to send him somewhere or shunt him something to work on at that had to be done at that moment. If he wanted time off to spend with his family, they approved the days off without blinking.

Most importantly, they never had Christmas parties which Bill had to attend, drinking at a slow but steady pace merely to make it through the hours of people staring at him and not asking, not asking, not asking how he'd gotten those scars.

So it was that he felt somewhat betrayed when his immediate superior made it clear that he would be liaising for Gringotts at the annual Ministry Christmas party. There were certain tones of Gobblede-gook, however, with which one could not argue. Particularly not when one's boss was using them.

Bill thought about using a glamour. He did sometimes. But his father would be there, and would look at him with shielded eyes that read, "I don't know who you are when you're being who you used to be," and Bill would know he wasn't who he used to be, and that would be worse than people not asking.

Instead he took a drink before leaving for the party, hoping to effect the mellowness that a small amount of Firewhiskey sometimes afforded him. With Fleur it wouldn't have been necessary, she would have gone and glared back at the stares and flipped her hair and let everyone know without a word how offensive they were being. Fleur had died in childbirth three years before, though, and Bill evidently didn't have that same ability. Firewhiskey was a poor substitute, but one that mostly did the trick.

The first hour wasn't so terrible. Bill joked a bit with his father, who was quite obviously desperate to get back to the burrow and its three grand-babies. He chatted with Scrimgeour, who was a politically-minded bastard, but didn't care much one way or another about a person's looks. He even spent a few slightly awkward moments with Kingsley, carefully not referencing their ill-fated string of one-night stands.

The second hour, when younger people, people whom Bill thought of as post-war people began showing up and passing small but noticeable glances in his direction. And walking quickly in the other one.  
He was searching out his third glass of champagne when someone who wasn't robed up as a waiter handed him the fluted instrument of his desire. Bill started to say, "Thank-" and ended up blinking. "Malfoy."

"Drink up," Malfoy said evenly. Then, when Bill warily acceded to the advice he whispered, "They may look at you with even more unease than they do me."

"Hogwarts sent you?"

"Oh believe me, it's Minerva's idea of punishment." Malfoy had been cleared of all Death Eater related charges and taught Potions in the place of his dead mentor. This by no means meant that most people had forgiven or forgotten his attitude and (at times) actions during the last of the war. Harry had stood firmly behind Malfoy's pardoning though, and given the things Bill had heard Harry say throughout his school years about the other boy, that was enough for Bill to figure whatever Malfoy had done, it had paid for all the other things. And then some.

Also, Minerva was no fool. "What did you do?"

"I might have. . .taken my displeasure at a student out a bit too harshly."

Bill nodded. Finished off his champagne. "Was Poppy able to-"

"The reinflating process was completely painless, I'm sure."

Bill snickered.

"Is this punishment, or merely the Goblin's late increasing disdain for Ministry functions?"

Increasing disdain was saying something, but accurate. "The latter."

"How long do you have to stay?"

"At least another hour." Bill didn't look up from his glass. He didn't want to see the sideways looks he was sure the two of them were garnering.

"Are you up to. . .finding us another glass of champagne?" Malfoy caught Bill's eye. There was a solid shot of friendly sympathy in them. It caught Bill as a bit off in those eyes. They were so much like his father's, and Bill had only ever seen contempt in the latter's. Malfoy, when Bill didn't respond said, with a fluency that very nearly masked his uncertainty, "We could drink that one more slowly."

"While we talked?" Bill asked, having some idea of where this was going.

Malfoy nodded a bit. "Talked."

Bill said, "I'll see about finding us that champagne."


End file.
